


Mr Head-In-The-Clouds & Mr Feet-On-The-Ground

by yozra



Series: Thought-Bug [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Bugs & Insects, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Psychic!Iwaizumi, Slice of Life, Writer!Akaashi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: Iwaizumi never grew out of catching bugs. Only the bugs he caught now as an adult were a little different from what he used to catch as a kid.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Iwaizumi Hajime
Series: Thought-Bug [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716112
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	1. You're Mr Head-In-The-Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> The title came first, everything else followed after. I was torn between writing an everyday scene and a not-so-everyday world and the result is this story which is neither here nor there.

“What’s this?”  
  
In Iwaizumi’s hands was a package wrapped in brown paper which he’d ripped open, revealing a rectangular marble slab that was heavy in his hands with white lettering that read— _  
  
Mr Head-In-The-Clouds & Mr Feet-On-The-Ground_  
  
He knew immediately who’d sent it, but that didn’t stop him from flipping the package around to check the label, the sender’s box scrawled with a name that proved his suspicions right—  
  
_Kuroo Tetsurou_  
  
“…I’m charging him double from now on,” Iwaizumi muttered under his breath.  
  
“Did you say something?”  
  
Iwaizumi glanced over his shoulder to find Akaashi wandering over. He was wearing a hooded jacket patterned with tiny butterflies and caterpillars that was – well, it made him look cute, but also made Iwaizumi question his fashion sense (which flipped between clothes that looked to be picked by a professional consultant to someone who couldn’t decide what brand he wanted to be that day). He was also carrying a steaming mug; Iwaizumi had no idea where he bought his teas, just that it was a weird mix that tasted good right up to the point when he swallowed, which was when the bitterness kicked in, or the spice burnt his mouth, or the sourness made him want to eat sugar by the spoonful.  
  
Akaashi said it helped him clear his head. Iwaizumi couldn’t really argue with him on that.  
  
“I’m charging Kuroo triple from now on,” Iwaizumi corrected; the new pricing sounded better.  
  
Akaashi read out the titles and a small smile emerged – the rarer kind, all the sharpness in his eyes and mouth blurred by the joke.  
  
“I’m throwing it away,” Iwaizumi growled. He wasn’t going to accept that out of everyone he knew (besides himself), _Kuroo_ was the one who could put that look on Akaashi’s face.  
  
“You really should wait before throwing away a gift – out of courtesy, and in case you change your mind. You may end up liking it.” Akaashi took a sip of his tea. “Also, I’m not sure you can take offence if it’s accurate. Your mind does tend to go elsewhere when you talk about bugs, leaving the average person behind. Oh, and that way you get with your films.”  
  
Iwaizumi stared after Akaashi walking across the living room to the study at the far end and carried on staring even after he disappeared inside and closed the door quietly behind him.

Iwaizumi didn’t get rid of the nameplate. He did wrap it back up and head to the laundry room to shove into the cupboard under the sink, behind the tissue boxes and packs of toilet paper.  
  
Kuroo had first cracked the joke in the early days of Iwaizumi’s relationship with Akaashi, after Iwaizumi’s (grudging) confession as to why his address had changed, and Kuroo outstaying his welcome to personally meet Akaashi for the first time; his eyes had darted between Akaashi and Iwaizumi, his predatory grin widening with each exchange making Iwaizumi regret being associated with him. After that, Kuroo had blessed them with his new nicknames and had never stopped using them since.  
  
(What really got him was Kuroo sometimes switched the names around, and Iwaizumi knew he had his blank moments but he’d be willing to bet his whole figure collection his feet were firmly planted on the ground.)  
  
The question was – why he was sending this now. If it was a moving-in ‘gift’ then he was a year late for—  
  
Iwaizumi inhaled sharply. Tried to remember the exact date he and Akaashi got together.  
  
He remembered it was this month, because the weather had gotten warmer and he’d just finished battling with the annual paperwork to renew his business permit. It had been a Wednesday, because Iwaizumi had suggested the day and Akaashi had agreed, even though Akaashi added that he personally preferred ‘immediately’ than having to wait five days.  
  
And then Iwaizumi had moved in a week later.  
  
If Kuroo had sent the nameplate as an anniversary gift, it meant one thing—  
  
Iwaizumi had failed.

Iwaizumi crept up to the study door, pushing the handle soundlessly down and opening it enough for him to peer inside; Akaashi’s back was to him as he faced the desk lined up against the wall opposite, scribbling away on paper.  
  
(Iwaizumi always wondered why Akaashi hand wrote his novel draft. Akaashi had explained the benefits once, which then broke off into a tangent about an idea for the next part of the story; Iwaizumi had lost him after that.)  
  
The green curtains above the desk were drawn open, a sign of a calm Akaashi working productively and oblivious to the world. Iwaizumi could sing at the top of his voice to have their neighbour banging on the wall and Akaashi wouldn’t notice.  
  
Iwaizumi opened the door further, leaning against the doorframe to watch the man.  
  
He glanced around at the walls lined with shelves along every available space that turned the compact room cosy – or cramped and stuffy to make it a storage cupboard depending on the person’s outlook; for Iwaizumi, the room was comforting, and for Akaashi, the closed space helped narrow his thoughts onto the space that was his desk. On the shelves were glass casings, sizes ranging from could-be-held-in-one-hand to taking-up-half-the-shelf, with the too-heavy-to-be-carried-even-by-him casings set out like pillars along the floor. All were currently empty except for soil and greenery, but that was because Akaashi was working. When he was on a break, or when he was done for the day, he pressed the switch for projections to flicker on, revealing flitting, fluttering, crawling, gliding, scurrying, jumping bugs.  
  
Not ‘true’ bugs, where bugs referred to the order Hemiptera (like cicadas and aphids, though Iwaizumi also had those in his collection), and not true ‘bugs’, where bugs referred to insects in general that could actually be seen flying or hanging or scurrying around.  
  
These bugs were the kind created by people themselves and drawn to their thoughts – the kind that ‘bugged’ them. Anxiousness creeping under belief. Worries chewing at rationality. Fatigue leeching away happiness. Bright ideas flickering uncertainly until short-circuiting and being snuffed out completely by denial.  
  
The projection mechanism had been added courtesy of the containers’ maker so that Akaashi could see them, too. Something to do with adjusting the vibrations or frequency of the bugs – Iwaizumi didn’t know the technicalities.  
  
Iwaizumi, he could see them whenever he wanted. All he had to do was close his eyes, quieten his mind, and listen.  
  
Thin film flapping through the air. Sugar grains sprinkling on soil. Liquid glue rolling over veiny bumps. Iwaizumi breathed in the whispers and pushed out the clatters and opened his eyes.  
  
The containers were filled now, bugs of every kind in colours the projections could never match, a shimmering spectrum that swirled and glistened, having been created by moods tainted with traits of their creators.  
  
A beetle that was a rich chestnut brown instead of the usual green, its normally copper coating brightened to remind him of a flame devouring every good thought. An oily black cockroach peppered with iron slivers that fed on anything and everything and replacing it with scum. Some were an annoyance to their hosts, others more deadly, and Iwaizumi kept those he was interested in, whether it was for their colours or habits.  
  
(The rest he sold to Kuroo.)  
  
But what grabbed his attention each time was the mass of wings at the end of the room belonging to a species of butterfly specific to Akaashi. From the colour, he would’ve said they were a branch of blue morpho, their wings a metallic grey-blue which – when light skimmed the surface – had an iridescent green sheen, matching the colour of his eyes. But this had been flipped to the underside, while the topside pattern of wavy brown-black lines and two eyespots (in the same blue-grey rather than the gold in real life) resembled an owl butterfly. When the wings were all open, with each butterfly almost as big as his hand, the sight made him shudder, like he was being pinned by a hundred stares.  
  
They were resting now – along Akaashi’s arms, his shoulders, his head, back, lap and, though Iwaizumi couldn’t see it, probably all down the front. Wings still and upright in blue, or blinking slowly between blue and brown to the quiet beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breaths, the lifts and dips made by each word written by his hand.  
  
If Iwaizumi had been asked to describe the sight in one word, he would probably be expected to use ‘beautiful’ or ‘striking’.  
  
But that was if Iwaizumi didn’t know what those bugs did to Akaashi, and if he hadn’t seen them flying haphazardly in a swarm.  
  
And if they weren’t a reminder of a promise he’d failed to keep, that he would clear them within a year.

Iwaizumi left Akaashi to prepare his extra-large briefcase and change into work clothes. He didn’t wear a uniform, but dressed smartly enough to be taken seriously. Today that included an ironed white shirt with a striped turquoise tie and black slacks. In his shirt pocket was his permit that allowed him to use his ability for his occupation, even though most people were too eager to have him solve their problems to bother asking for proof. The five-star rating also helped.  
  
He returned to hovering by the study door, Akaashi (and the butterflies) in the same position as he’d last left them.  
  
He walked up and touched him on the shoulder—  
  
Some of the butterflies flew from their resting place, slowly circling Akaashi.  
  
Iwaizumi squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head; when he opened them again they’d disappeared, along with all the other captured bugs in the room.  
  
“I’m going.”  
  
Akaashi put his pen down, pulling off his glasses as he twisted round to face him. “In that case, I’ll make my way to the supermarket. Is there anything you need me to buy? Anywhere you would like me to go?”  
  
“No, I’m fine.” The shopping he needed done couldn’t be left to Akaashi – it would spoil the surprise (and he hadn’t thought about what to get him yet). “I might be a bit late.”  
  
Akaashi stood up; Iwaizumi couldn’t stop himself from imagining the butterflies to be fully awake and swarming around Akaashi.  
  
Iwaizumi reached around to thread his fingers through Akaashi’s tangled and stuck-out hair, and – gently guiding Akaashi’s head lower – leaned in to press a lingering kiss on his lips.  
  
And then he pulled away and stood on tiptoes to press a lighter one on his forehead.  
  
(Neither ever mentioned how Akaashi titled his head a little more to make Iwaizumi’s job easier.)  
  
“Don’t get caught up in your thoughts,” Iwaizumi said as he released Akaashi from his hold. Something twisted inside his chest, which also tugged his eyebrows to furrow; he quickly smoothed it over.  
  
“Are you still insisting on saying that every time you go out?”  
  
Must be coming to an important plot point, Iwaizumi thought, if he’s feeling rebellious enough to complain about Iwaizumi’s phrase he always said before he said good-bye. The butterflies would be more agitated. Akaashi more irritated.  
  
But he didn’t sound irritated. Just curious.  
  
“How about this? I’ll stop asking when you become Mr Feet-on-the-Ground.”  
  
And Iwaizumi dashed off before Akaashi could begin to argue.

Iwaizumi’s first stop was a fifteen-minute drive towards the centre of the city, to a house squeezed between a new six-storey apartment and a ramen restaurant he’d never seen open. When he first visited the place, the outside walls had been covered in rusted metal with varnish peeling off the wooden doors, some of its square windows cracked and – where the glass had completely broken off – covered in paper. It hadn’t been a promising first impression of the man he was about to interview, but Iwaizumi decided to give him a chance.  
  
Now, the outside walls were a sleek black, the entrance around the door framed in dark wood, the door re-varnished and repaired, looking newer than some of the recent buildings Iwaizumi passed on his walk up from his car (parked three streets away, not wanting to risk scratching it along one of the utility poles sticking out into the narrow street.)  
  
He rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a giant shadow was looming behind the frosted windows, and the door slid open.  
  
Iwaizumi gave a curt bow of his head. “Morning, Aone.”  
  
He received a curt nod back and Aone shuffled aside to let him through.  
  
Iwaizumi sidled past him, past the huge sheets of metals and plastics and glass leaning against the walls, through to the dining-kitchen with the table surface with tools lined neatly in a row and an unfinished box that only had two of its sides soldered (metal, so not his). He glanced at the backdoor window on his way to taking his waiting position by the kitchen counter; he knew it lead to his workshop, but it was always too dark to see exactly how it looked inside.  
  
Iwaizumi found Aone shortly before he set up his business. Getting rid of bugs around people was one thing, making sure they stayed away was another. He needed secure casing that could safely hold the nonphysical, and he stumbled on his name while searching for independent crafters. When they met, Iwaizumi quickly noted his hesitancy and with an otherworldly glance found bugs on him. He picked them off, Aone showed examples of his work and presented discounted prices, they formed an instant partnership.  
  
Aone came through with a crate, which he put down by Iwaizumi’s feet. The top layer had eight portable containers, a couple of which Iwaizumi always had ready in his suitcase; he picked one out to check the second layer that had a larger glass panel.  
  
“Are there two of those?” he asked, looking up. The large ones were going to join the others in the study back home.  
  
Aone gave a nod.  
  
Iwaizumi slotted the small container back into the gap. “Thanks. They should do for now.” He glanced at the door leading to the living room, nodding at it. “Mind if I take a look?”  
  
Aone shook his head and Iwaizumi went through into the living room – simple, with a low sofa and a low table and a small television in the corner. Next to the sofa’s armrest was a giant case that came waist high, a huge branch placed from the bottom corner diagonally to the top; Iwaizumi ‘switched on’ his ability so he could take a look.  
  
Inside were three rhinoceros beetles, platinum white and wider than his handspan matching their owner’s hair colour and physical build. If they’d been actual beetles, Iwaizumi would’ve been against keeping them together, but these had materialised from Aone – more shy than aggressive, keeping to the shades of their chosen corner. They were a beast in the insect world and Iwaizumi’s childhood dream had been to catch one first-hand – it had never crossed his mind that he’d be able to do it so close to home. Every time he visited he couldn’t help taking a look, his pride flaring up in his chest at being the one who captured them.  
  
At the sound of the kettle whistling Iwaizumi pushed himself up and returned to the kitchen where Aone was carefully pouring water into a clay teapot, with two small clay cups set ready.  
  
Aone put the lid back on and turned to Iwaizumi, looking at him expectantly. Iwaizumi gave him a once over – Aone turned around slowly, full circle until he was facing the front again.  
  
Iwaizumi shook his head. “Nothing on you. Do you feel like something’s creeping up?”  
  
Aone’s reply was to also shake his head, and he went on to pour the tea and, after setting the pot down, reaching for his clay cup that disappeared behind his hand.  
  
Every visit the reply was the same. It was hard to tell whether it meant a straightforward ‘no’ or if he was holding something back.  
  
Iwaizumi took his own cup and blew the liquid a few times. “Give me a call if you feel a change,” he said, and took a sip. “I’ll come and sort it out.”  
  
Two appreciative nods.  
  
The two drank their tea in silence. When only the dregs remained, Iwaizumi put the cup down and crouched down, ready to lift up the crate. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Aone holding his arms open like he was offering to carry it back to the car, a gesture he always did.  
  
Iwaizumi shook his head. They weren’t too heavy, and he wasn’t that weak himself.  
  
“See you same time next month.”  
  
Iwaizumi carried the crate back to the car, sliding it into the boot, and checked his phone for the next address. A new message was waiting for him, and he opened it—  
  
His client wanted to push back the appointment by two hours.  
  
Iwaizumi grimaced, but typed out a polite reply that it was doable and sent it off.  
  
Which left him with an empty slot. He glanced at the clock as he slipped into the driver’s seat – it hadn’t even been an hour since he left home.  
  
With an idea on where to go, he started up the engine and pulled away.

As Iwaizumi sat at a window seat of a chain restaurant, he scrolled through gift ideas for a one-year anniversary. Flowers, clothes, cake – they were fine, but too common for someone with a complex mind. Akaashi deserved something… more.  
  
If only he knew what that more was.  
  
“Iwaizumi-san—”  
  
Iwaizumi slammed his phone face-down – he winced – and he looked up at Akaashi blinking down at him, three bulging bags of shopping in his hands.  
  
“Hey. I already ordered.”  
  
A mackerel dish for Akaashi and pork cutlet for himself ordered as soon as he’d sat down ten minutes ago. It was one less thing for Akaashi – now placing bags into the basket by his chair – to think about.  
  
Iwaizumi checked the screen (no scratches) and pushed his phone back into his pocket.  
  
Maybe he was being a little too protective of the man sliding into the chair opposite and taking the menu anyway to see what seasonal dishes they had on offer.  
  
The dish Iwaizumi had picked had been from the selection. Akaashi tended to stick to the familiar – once he found something he liked, he’d choose the same every time to save himself extra thinking space; Akaashi took in a hundred pieces of information and tried to make sense of them in a second, listed and sifted a hundred imagined scenarios all while butterflies flittered to tear through and shred his thoughts, and he had to pick up from where they’d broken off and piece them back together.  
  
But Iwaizumi knew the unknown grabbed his attention and sparked inspiration, if given the chance. He knew Akaashi liked the comfort of routine, but also ached a little for sporadic spontaneity.  
  
“Iwaizumi-san.”  
  
Iwaizumi blinked to focus on Akaashi, who was staring at him.  
  
“Sorry, I – zoned out for a second.”  
  
“I think you should take back your earlier statement about me with my head in the clouds.” Akaashi returned the menu to the stand and reached for his glass of water.  
  
“Oh, we’re doing this again?”  
  
The waiter came up to them, quickly laying out bowls and plates in front of them and then sweeping away.  
  
“‘Maybe after we’ve eaten,” Akaashi said, taking his chopsticks.  
  
Iwaizumi accepted the temporary truce, nibbling on a piece of meat as he watched Akaashi tuck into his food.  
  
He lowered his chopsticks. “Akaashi, do you… need anything?”  
  
Akaashi paused lifting rice to his mouth. “Not particularly, the fish has already been adequately seasoned. But I do think your cutlet would taste better if you put sauce on it.”  
  
“Huh—?” Iwaizumi looked down, found he hadn’t dressed his food. He took the bottle at the side, double-checking it was sauce for the cutlet and not soy sauce. He poured it in a wave over his meat. “No, I meant – do you need anything in general?”  
  
“That’s a very broad question.”  
  
“Like… something for work.”  
  
“I suppose I should replenish my stock of paper at some point. And I could do with more ink.” Akaashi pushed rice into his mouth, chewing on it contemplatively – he swallowed. “Thank you for reminding me, I’ll put them on my to-do list for after lunch.”  
  
“Uh… no problem.”  
  
There was silence as they ate, which Iwaizumi was the first to break again.  
  
“What about non-work related stuff? That’s also not food-related or to do with everyday things. Something… I dunno. Something to treat yourself. Something that caught your eye, and you felt like you really wanted it.”  
  
Akaashi stared hard at Iwaizumi then, and Iwaizumi knew without even checking that his butterflies would all be staring at him with their wings spread wide.  
  
“I did spot an office chair while browsing the homeware catalogue yesterday,” Akaashi said, turning back to his food.  
  
“Yeah?” Furniture wasn’t exactly romantic, but it gave Iwaizumi something to work with. “What kind?”  
  
“It was dark brown leather and had much better cushioning than my current chair. I deliberated replacing it, but quickly wrote off the idea.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
“For the same amount of money, I’d rather purchase a custom fountain pen.”  
  
“…How much are we talking here?”  
  
“Enough for you to question why I would spend so much on a pen.”  
  
Iwaizumi took a bite of his pork to stop himself from saying anything to that.  
  
A custom fountain pen. He didn’t know the first thing about pens or what kind Akaashi would want without asking him, which would ruin the surprise. And if they were as expensive as Akaashi suggested them to be, Iwaizumi wasn’t going to risk getting something he might not want just because he was too stubborn to ask.  
  
So he returned to the idea of the office chair, though again, not the most romantic gift—  
  
“Iwaizumi-san.”  
  
His eyes snapped up. “What?”  
  
Even to his own ears, he sounded on edge. Maybe Akaashi was going to call him out on his suspicious questions—  
  
“We should do this more often.”  
  
“What – eating here or talking about shopping?”  
  
“Eating out, though not necessarily here. More accurately, spending time outside our home, planned or otherwise.” A small smile emerged. Only this time Iwaizumi had put it there, though he felt it wasn’t for the reason he thought. “We’re often so caught up in our work and rarely do anything to disturb our routine. Lately though, I’ve been feeling it would be a shame if our experiences remained limited to one aspect when there are so many more waiting to be discovered.”  
  
Akaashi returned to his food; Iwaizumi did, too, though his movements were a lot slower.  
  
Right there, Akaashi had dropped him a clue.  
  
(But was it deliberate…?)


	2. In the Distance, Where Cloud Met Ground

Iwaizumi reached over to ring the doorbell. Straightened up. Ignored the tingle around his neck of wanting to straighten his tie by tightening his grip on the suitcase, having already adjusted it in the elevator mirror as he travelled up to the fifth floor.  
  
The door swung open—  
  
Iwaizumi noticed the T-shirt first, a dark green with onigiri rolling around, names of their fillings written underneath – noted the wearer second, a man squinting at him through his glasses, a confused look on his face.  
  
“Who are you?” The man asked.  
  
“Iwaizumi Hajime. You rang last week to say you’ve got a bug problem.”  
  
“Did I?”  
  
Iwaizumi pulled out his phone, checked the profile of his appointment. “Your name’s Akaashi Keiji?”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
He pushed the phone back into his pocket. “Then I’m at the right place. You mentioned you wanted to clear your head. I’m here to help.”   
  
He gave this ‘Akaashi Keiji’ a once over. Hair a mess, dark rings under his eyes, his face roughly shaven with the odd facial hair sticking out where his razor blade had missed the mark.  
  
Here stood a typical example of a man pestered by his thoughts.  
  
“Do you mind if I come in? I won’t be able to work out here.”  
  
His client moved to let him through. Iwaizumi excused himself, slipping off his shoes, and stepped into the corridor where he waited for his client to lead him through to a room that should probably be called a living room, if it wasn’t for books stacked or opened on the sofa and its surrounding area, loose papers and letters strewn across the countertop and spilling over onto the floor – it looked more like a ransacked library. Iwaizumi briefly wondered about his profession.  
  
“You’ll need to make some space to sit down,” Iwaizumi gently suggested. “Better for you to be comfortable.”  
  
“What exactly will you be doing?” His client asked, starting to close the open books and then— “Ah – tea.”  
  
“This won’t take long—”  
  
His client abandoned his tidying as he wandered off to the open kitchen, the clicks from the stove turning on and running water to rinse out cups.  
  
Iwaizumi quickly stacked the books to the side so there was space for one. “I’ll just be taking a quick look to see what kind of problem you have,” he called, “and the extraction itself shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”  
  
“Will it be painful?” his client asked, pulling out a tin.  
  
“No, though you might feel light-headed from feeling the weight taken off of your mind.”  
  
Iwaizumi looked down around his feet; lots of handwritten scrawls running up and down the pages.  
  
Must be some kind of writer, he thought. He decided not to risk touching them in case there was a specific order; one person’s mess was another person’s organisation.  
  
His client came to sit down, though not without a glance around him, like he was wondering how it miraculously became tidy. “In that case,” he said, his attention back to Iwaizumi, “it should all be done by the time the kettle finishes boiling.” He didn’t say it as a challenge, just a simple statement to say he believed Iwaizumi’s professional arm to be that good.  
  
“It… could take a little longer, depending on how extreme your problem is.”  
  
The man stared up at him expectantly.  
  
Iwaizumi set down his case. “I’ll just start.”  
  
Iwaizumi examined the man, seemingly calm and – he wanted to say distant, like the man wasn’t sure why he was doing this and his mind was wandering to a place that had no relevance to what was happening in front of him.  
  
Iwaizumi closed his eyes, cleared his mind, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, listening for the telltale sounds. He had to strain his ears – he caught a quick flutter—  
  
He opened his eyes.  
  
“ _What the fu—_ ”  
  
He shook his head violently, to clear the vision, to shake off the fear that erupted in his chest.  
  
“Is something the matter?”  
  
The outside voice reminded him he was working – with deep breaths, he tried to slow the thumping throughout his body.  
  
“Sorry – I’m sorry – really sorry.” He stumbled over his words. “Got a… a shock. Let me… let me try again.”  
  
He did the same, prepared to stand his ground now that he knew what to expect. Opening his eyes the second time, it didn’t stop the mild shock wave tear though him, but he quickly realised the eyes belonged to butterflies, and not some mutated tarantula, which was what he initially thought.  
  
He almost rolled his eyes at himself. Scared. Of _butterflies_.  
  
They were perched all over the man. Quiet, he noted, the occasional opening and closing of their wings like the man’s slow blinking, but he imagined if they suddenly startled awake—  
  
“I’m going to ask a few questions,” Iwaizumi said, afraid as he kept his eyes on the creatures that even his words might set them off. “Do you flit from thought to thought?”  
  
“All the time.”  
  
“Any single thought you manage to grab hold of get broken up?”  
  
“Incessantly.”  
  
“Hard to pull your thoughts back on track?”  
  
“Indeed – often it takes a complete detour to return to the starting point.”  
  
Iwaizumi slipped his gaze onto the man. “How long have you felt like this?”  
  
“I’m not sure I could pinpoint an exact time… perhaps during elementary school.”  
  
There were those who created their own problems, and those who had problems pushed onto them. And this was a typical case of someone who had created the bugs themselves.  
  
He’d had calls from student clients with anxiety gnawing away at them, caterpillars, generally, that consumed their optimism. Another similar insect was the moth, the ones that flittered around and bumped against bright ideas; unlike in real life where moths might eventually meet their demise, these destroyed a person’s idea instead, the holes left by their wings and body replaced with doubt and futility.  
  
Butterflies? He’d never come across them before. He’d yet to meet a person who considered them as pests.  
  
“I’m going to put this bluntly – you’ve got a big problem. Or you’ve got lots of little problems that’s creating a big problem.”  
  
“Oh…” The man’s shoulders sagged a little.  
  
Iwaizumi wanted to put an arm around him, give him a pat on the back to say it would be all right.  
  
His client quickly perked up again, though. “But surely a seasoned professional such as yourself can resolve the issue? You seem very reliable.”  
  
Iwaizumi wasn’t one to get puffed up by a compliment or two, but he couldn’t help preening from the words. The way Akaashi said it – clear, no mockery (not that anyone would when within earshot of Iwaizumi) and his full confidence – made him feel like he could do anything.  
  
“I can help you, Akaashi-san, but not today – I need a bigger container. Or a lot of smaller containers. I’ll catch a few now and we can see if that’ll make a difference.”  
  
Iwaizumi got the cage that was in his case and opened the lid.  
  
Though these insects were lured by thoughts, they weren’t all too different from those in the real world – they liked sweetness.  
  
Once, a friend had said that Iwaizumi shouldn’t be able to attract any bugs because he 1) was too direct to sugar-coat his words, 2) had limited vocabulary to create flowery speech, and 3) he didn’t have any intricately-patterned or coloured thoughts to attract them—  
  
(“No, don’t yell at me yet, Iwa-chan, I haven’t finished!”)  
  
—but that worked in his favour; direct words time hadn’t tainted struck people directly in the heart, and that right there was a potent lure.  
  
So he did as he always did first – described the bug’s appearance to the host.  
  
“You’re attracting butterflies. Their wings are what’s causing you to lose track of your thoughts, or switching constantly between them, but they’re not like anything you’d see in real life – not even in the remotest parts of the world. Their topside looks feathered, almost velvety, with their eyes matching their underside. If I try to describe the colour, I’d say… they’re like clouds lit by the moon and reflected on water, with bright blue or green streaks – like fins – skimming the reflection. Shimmering. Elegant—”  
  
Iwaizumi felt a word at the tip of his tongue and hesitated to say it out loud, the word bordering on personal impression than professional observation; he needed it to push his point though, so he quietly added—  
  
“Gorgeous.”  
  
The butterflies weren’t moved.  
  
Most of the bugs usually made their way to him, but there was the occasional tough crowd. It was expected with these, especially if Akaashi had been holding onto them for years on end.  
  
He tried again.  
  
“It almost looks like a coat of armour – strong and unbreakable. And their eyes pierce every person’s heart, frightening anyone who can’t stand their unblinking stare to back away.”  
  
Not even a bat of a wing.  
  
And, well, when sweet words didn’t work, there was always Plan B.  
  
(“Or, you could threaten to crush them – that would probably work, too.”)  
  
Iwaizumi would never crush a bug. But empty threats weren’t beneath him.  
  
“Right – do some of you want to make your way in here before I forcefully evict you all?”  
  
The butterflies still didn’t move. It was like they knew he wouldn’t treat them so violently and risk damage.  
  
“I must say, I’m feeling rather calm,” Akaashi spoke out. “Ever since you walked in, actually.”  
  
“That’s because they’re not flying,” Iwaizumi explained, trying to find a hole in the butterflies’ defence. “But they’re there, all—” He started counting them in twos, and then roughly in tens – there were over a hundred at least. “A hundred and twenty – maybe thirty of them,” he estimated.  
  
“In fact, I think I might be able to resolve the block I‘ve been trying to shift this past week,” Akaashi continued, reaching to grab some paper from the floor and looking around. “Can you spot a pen anywhere—”  
  
“I haven’t even started clearing what’s bugging you yet,” Iwaizumi said a little sterner, watching Akaashi get up and search for something he could write with, butterflies all perched – Akaashi exclaimed an ‘ah!’ as he found a pencil on the kitchen counter, then made his way back to his seat.  
  
“Akaashi-san, I can’t leave until I’ve collected at least one sample.”  
  
Akaashi gave a vague hum. Iwaizumi almost tried calling him again, and decided against it. If the man wasn’t complaining, then Iwaizumi may as well leave him to it and get on with his own work.  
  
“I just need one of you,” he carried on saying to the butterflies like they would understand him. He didn’t know if the bugs understood him. He pretended that they did. “I have others where I live, you can make friends. Unless you want to be alone, then I’ve got a quiet space you can spend by yourself.”  
  
Still no movement.  
  
And then there was Plan C, which he didn’t like and wanted to avoid, where he literally extracted the bug off the client – but it was never the same as them coming willingly. It was too private, a stranger touching the raw emotion causing someone so much grief and pain. And the risk of someone flying at him for touching their nerves was greater than the soothing they received precisely because they were talking to someone they didn’t know.  
  
And it hurt the bugs if he did it wrong. A wing, a leg. He was careful, always, _always_ gentle and coaxing the bug off, and still he had a high chance of inflicting pain – on them. So he only ever tried when clients were desperate.  
  
“Akaashi-san, do you mind if I… touch one?”  
  
A touch to gauge how they would behave.  
  
When he received silence for an answer, he looked to Akaashi – head down, scrawling furiously on the back of what looked like a leaflet – and he repeated the question again, a little louder.  
  
“Akaashi-san!”  
  
No reaction. Iwaizumi crept to him and kneeled in front so he could be within the man’s line of sight, waiting for him to look up.  
  
After filling the whole page and turning it over to find it already had print, Akaashi’s eyes darted about to search for more paper, which was when he noticed Iwaizumi waiting right before his nose.  
  
“Is it finished?”  
  
“I wanted to ask if you’d mind me touching one. I want to see how they – and you – will react.”  
  
Akaashi put his pencil down. “Please go ahead.”  
  
It was a little more awkward when those eyes were staring intently at him. “You can get back to writing.”  
  
“I’m interested in watching the movements of you trying to touch something I can’t see.”  
  
“Oh. Okay. In that case, feel free to get writing again if you get bored.”  
  
The butterfly by Akaashi’s ear caught his eye, one of the few with its brilliant wings upright; Iwaizumi reached slowly, the tips of his fingers just brushing the fragile wings—  
  
They all took off, confetti torn from earth and night sky.  
  
“Damn it—!”  
  
“Oh—”  
  
A look at Akaashi and his expression was clouding over – his cheeks were flushed, his grip on his pencil tight.  
  
“They really don’t want to leave you.” Iwaizumi pushed himself up and backed off to where he stood earlier to see how they would react.  
  
A minute and they had all settled around Akaashi again.  
  
“I feel… composed again.”  
  
This was going to be tricky. “Akaashi-san, I’m running out of time and I’ve got another appointment straight after this. I have a policy where if I can’t get rid of your problem the first time, all following sessions will be worked around your schedule, free of charge. Just give me a time and a date on when I can come in.”  
  
“That’s generous of you,” Akaashi said, and evenly tapped the end of his pencil against the paper as he thought. “I think around this time slot would be best. I tend to work in the mornings and evenings, and go out after lunch.”  
  
Iwaizumi pulled up his calendar to check his schedule. “Tomorrow, then?”  
  
“That would be perfect.”  
  
Iwaizumi gave a nod and put his schedule back into his pocket. “If you can record how you feel throughout the rest of today and tomorrow, it’ll give me something to work with.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“All right. I’ll come back again, same time tomorrow.” Iwaizumi bowed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t solve your problem today, Akaashi-san. But know I will do everything to bring peace to your mind.”

* * * * * * * * *

Iwaizumi returned to Akaashi’s house around the same time for five tomorrows.  
  
He tried talking to them, he tried waiting for them, he tried catching them in his hands and they escaped, slipping out of the gap just before he clasped his hands closed.  
  
Then there were the notes he asked Akaashi to record. For the first two days, Akaashi forgot. Iwaizumi set alarms and stick notes as reminders. On the third day, Akaashi gave him a sheet of paper with scrawlings Iwaizumi had to have him decode, and they were less about his moods and more to-do lists – shopping for food and supplies, important errands, character ideas. The fourth day, Iwaizumi came prepared, having drawn a table with columns for hours, feelings, activities, and general comments; Akaashi didn’t need to fill everything out, just the odd one here and there when he remembered.  
  
The fifth day was where they were at, Iwaizumi sitting on a chair he had pulled up in front of Akaashi as he scanned the form, Akaashi poised ready on the sofa with a pad of paper on his lap and an uncapped pen in his hand, eager to start writing as soon as Iwaizumi gave him permission.  
  
The form had some notes that he could just about make out – ‘frustrated’ about yesterday evening (he couldn’t get past a plot point and the characters were uncooperative) and ‘overwhelmed’ repeated itself three times in the afternoon when he went shopping. Surprisingly, his morning was the calmest at ‘pensive’. He hadn’t written what he’d been pensive about, so Iwaizumi guessed it to be related to the dreamlike state just after waking, when the brain was still muddling through dreams and memories, and separating them from the hard facts of what people accepted as reality.  
  
In the column an hour before Iwaizumi’s arrival, Akaashi had written ‘anticipatory’ with the reason, ‘Iwaizumi-san. My mind has never been so clear this time in the afternoon, and I’m extremely productive.’  
  
Iwaizumi checked the butterflies perched peacefully on his arms. He tried to touch them again, but they still fled.   
  
“I don’t know what to do,” Iwaizumi muttered. He hadn’t felt so defeated by a job, even compared to his worst extraction – a tiny spider that crawled all over its host and webbed and tied all thoughts together so they were stuck. It had taken hours to locate it, and coax it, and he eventually picked it off (bar one leg); he never got around to clearing all the webbing because he’d been thrown out (that was when he realised he couldn’t go picking bugs off on his own).  
  
“I don’t want to hurt them. I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m having problems trying to solve this.”   
  
With a sigh, Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes; he shouldn’t be whining to his client like this, his incapability wasn’t their fault.  
  
“But I see a pattern,” Akaashi said, making Iwaizumi raise his head. “Whenever you’re here, my thoughts are lucid.”  
  
“Because the butterflies are all resting, it makes you relaxed.”  
  
“Yes, but I don’t usually feel like that with anyone.”  
  
Iwaizumi dropped his hand and leaned forward. “Can you expand on that?”  
  
“Usually the presence of another person, regardless of their relationship or years of acquaintance, I find it hard to concentrate. In the back of my mind I sense their presence and I can’t focus on my tasks. With you, however, my head is clear. You blend into the background like... this sofa here.”  
  
Iwaizumi tried not to dwell on how being compared to furniture made him feel. “And it’s the same for everyone?”  
  
“There are people I can tolerate. Most family members and relatives, for instance. A few friends. But I have my limits. With you, I feel like time is endless.”  
  
There was a clue in there somewhere. Why could he make Akaashi’s butterflies calm and not anyone else?  
  
“There must be a way for you to be here on a regular basis…” Akaashi also fell into quiet, and the flaps of movement caught Iwaizumi’s attention; for once the butterflies were growing restless without Iwaizumi’s influence.  
  
Akaashi’s words suddenly hit him. “What do you mean regular—”  
  
“Ah – I have it.” Akaashi looked Iwaizumi in the eye. “Iwaizumi-san, would you like to become my partner?”  
  
Iwaizumi repeated the question to himself. Repeated it a few times in case he’d heard it wrong.  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“My partner.”  
  
“Your definition of partner…?”  
  
“My significant other.”  
  
“I… don’t see… how that’s… going to help…”  
  
“It would give you a reason to visit. Preferably on a daily basis, although I would be just as satisfied with once every few days, I’m happy to work around your schedule—”  
  
Iwaizumi snorted. Shaking his head and hands, he said— “No, no, no, no, no – Akaashi-san, I can’t agree to that—”  
  
“But it would give you a reason—”  
  
“You’d’ve been better off asking me to become a housemate!” As soon as he said that, he was aware his tone and manner had slipped to casual and Iwaizumi pulled himself out from reacting emotionally.  
  
Realisation flashed across Akaashi’s face and Iwaizumi had a bad feeling about how his words were being taken. “Oh yes – that would be far more effective. Iwaizumi-san—”  
  
“You can’t ask me that now!” Iwaizumi let himself slip to casual. Professionalism wasn’t going to be effective.  
  
“I don’t see why not?”  
  
“Because you just asked me to go out with you! The intentions are different! Me moving in now would be jumping over a whole bunch of relationship milestones!”  
  
“I see you’re rooted to conventional order accepted by society. In which case – would you like to go on a date?”  
  
Iwaizumi looked at the butterflies – half calm, half in an excited flutter – and he cleared his vision free with an extra hard shake of his head so he was looking at the man before him without the influence of his emotions.  
  
A date.  
  
Iwaizumi could admit to himself that the man was… well, he was… how Iwaizumi first described the aery auroras captured on winged film. And maybe he’d even go so far as to admit he’d zoned out the previous day dreaming of those colours while sitting in his car between appointments, first imagining Akaashi’s features to help him solve the problem, and the next having an urge to tug the curling ends straight, combing fingers through his hair.  
  
A date was… a date. People did dates all the time. It was a fancy word for saying ‘hanging out to see if they got on’. But he’d be pushing a relationship with a client and that wasn’t a good idea.   
  
It should be easy to say—  
  
“A date.”  
  
That wasn’t what he wanted to say. ‘I don’t socialise with clients’, was what he wanted to say.  
  
He opened his mouth to try again.  
  
“…Wednesday?”  
  
He decided that when he returned home, he was stripping himself down and checking to see if he didn’t have any bugs on _him_ , no matter how impossible it was supposed to be. Something had to be chewing the wiring between his mouth and brain.  
  
“I’d personally have said immediately, but Wednesday is doable – a safe choice for someone of your standing, where the beginning-of-the-week blues have faded and without the carefree wildness of the weekend.”  
  
“It’s my least busiest day,” Iwaizumi explained wearily.  
  
“Would you prefer lunch or an early dinner?”  
  
“Lunch.”  
  
So his mouth and brain were wired properly.   
  
“Then perhaps we could meet just outside of this building? Let’s say eleven, so we can avoid the lunchtime queues.”  
  
“Eleven. Here.” Iwaizumi inhaled sharply. “It’s… a date.”

* * * * * * * * *

Iwaizumi sat at a window seat of a local cafe, dressed no differently from usual, except he’d lost the tie because in his mind it separated business from casual, and this was supposed to be a private meeting  
  
Akaashi – scanning the menu in the seat opposite – he looked extra sharp with his light grey jacket and a white V-necked shirt (and some amazing pair of black jeans that made Iwaizumi wonder if he had it tailor made, it fitted him so snugly); it was a drastic change from his usual loungewear of T-shirts with cute (‘cute’?) illustrations.  
  
Iwaizumi felt a little underdressed.  
  
“I think I’ll have the salmon,” Akaashi said, lowering the menu. “How about you?”  
  
“Pork in black vinegar,” Iwaizumi said automatically, the first photo he’d seen and chosen because he needed to leave space in his head to ask himself over and over why he was doing this. Akaashi stacked their menus together and returned them to the stand.  
  
“I thought you might like this place,” Akaashi said, holding up a hand to flag someone. A waiter promptly came over and Akaashi did the ordering, and they quickly left. “It’s quiet around this time and the atmosphere is very relaxing. I thought it might help ease your tension, and treat this meeting casually, like a lunch between two acquaintances.”  
  
Iwaizumi wasn’t sure about that. In his mind they could have gone to the cheapest burger joint, or bought combini bento to eat in the park, and it would still feel like a date.  
  
“Do you come here often?” Iwaizumi asked.  
  
“When deadlines are looming. Or I may take advantage of their takeaways if my day is especially productive.”  
  
“And… you write?”  
  
“Yes – short stories. I don’t have the patience or capacity to write anything longer.”  
  
“But you don’t have any abilities?”  
  
“None. My family has none, although I did take the test because of the manner in which I process thoughts. I remained quite the blank slate. What about you, Iwaizumi-san? Was your ability passed down to you?”  
  
“It… emerged.”  
  
“Oh! What is that called… concentrated interest?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
The general route for abilities was to have them passed down, generation to generation. Sometimes they were exact copies, sometimes they were altered (if someone’s parent had mind-reading abilities, then their children could have mind-influencing abilities).  
  
The less frequent route was an ability emerging from interest – almost an obsession; it was personal to the individual and died with them. It was more proof that someone loved something so much, spending all their time on it, thinking about it, couldn’t separate themselves from it, that it stewed and souped until bursting out—  
  
“Like a butterfly breaking free from a chrysalis,” Akaashi said, dreamy quiet.  
  
“It wasn’t even close to being that breathtaking,” Iwaizumi said, embarrassed at the comparison, and at the memory of walking down the street and being amazed at finding never-been-discovered species, buying himself a net and trying to catch them all; it went without saying he made a lot of people angry before someone suggested he got tested for abilities. “It’s basically a nice way to say I took my interests way too seriously.”  
  
“I think that makes it even more remarkable.”  
  
Iwaizumi was glad their food arrived to save him from having to think of a reply.  
  
They exchanged more details about themselves, keeping to the shallow end of personal, and Iwaizumi tried to keep the tone light and focused away from work – things like their favourite things, recent film releases – small talk. Something his brain could manage without thinking too hard about what they were actually doing.  
  
They managed to avoid the big topic until after they had finished their meal, when coffees had been filled and Iwaizumi had sunk his fork into the baked cheesecake, breaking off a chunk and lifting it to his mouth—  
  
“Have you considered my proposal?”  
  
Iwaizumi’s mouth hung open as he considered.  
  
“No.” He lifted his fork closer—  
  
“No, you haven’t considered, or no—”  
  
“No, is my answer.”  
  
Iwaizumi shoved the cake into his mouth. It tasted bland.   
  
“Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity for you to study this strange phenomenon? You said it so yourself, you would like to understand exactly what makes the butterflies act this way. It can’t be to do with prolonged exposure, as you already mentioned encounters with people who had lived with their ‘bugs’ throughout their lives. Surely it would make your research easier if we were together. Even more so if we were living under the same roof.”  
  
Iwaizumi chewed on his answer with the food, trying not to swallow immediately so he could buy himself time. It melted quicker than he thought and he looked down at his plate, thinking if he needed another bite’s worth of time – he raised his head to look at Akaashi. Iwaizumi wasn’t a coward.  
  
“I can’t go out with you, and I can’t move in with you, just so I can use you as a subject for research. I want to help you, Akaashi-san, but that’s got to be separate from wanting to be with you. And I’m not sure I can do that.”  
  
Now it was Akaashi’s turn to look down at his plate of matcha roll cake. For all the few centimetres’ height advantage Akaashi had over Iwaizumi, he appeared hunched – small. It took Iwaizumi the whole of his willpower not to see how the butterflies were behaving and clue him in on how he was really feeling.  
  
“You too, right?” Iwaizumi pushed. “You’d want to be with someone you like, who you want to spend time with, not someone who’d help you clear your head just so you can work.”  
  
“I would imagine them to be one and the same.”  
  
Iwaizumi put his fork down onto the plate. He’d thought Akaashi suggested a date only as a means to get Iwaizumi to help him with his work, no feelings attached.  
  
“Is that… a confession?”  
  
Akaashi raked his fork slowly to leave water lines across the outer layer of cream on his green tea roll garden.  
  
“Aside from the fact you help me think, I think you’re very much my type, physically and characteristically. Naturally, you aren’t without your flaws—”  
  
“Sorry – what flaws are we talking here—?!”  
  
“—but at first glance they seem manageable. I would be happy to just date, but the efficacy of you moving in is undeniable – we would bypass time-wasting, money-spending, and emotional uncertainty.” He sunk his fork into the sponge.  
  
“You’re deciding on gut instinct.”  
  
“I formed my decision after running through options based on my gut instinct,” Akaashi spoke at the cake. “It’s not quite the same.”  
  
“We’ve met six – no, seven – times? And this is the first time we’ve talked to each other properly. People don’t move in together after the first date.”  
  
“People have been known to develop successful relationships in far shorter time frames with far fewer words and encounters. I was once told nothing is impossible, only improbable, and that concept has stuck ever since. Our relationship would be the same. And there’s no knowing without trying.”  
  
Akaashi put down his fork and placed his hands onto his lap. “I run my life in a certain order, Iwaizumi-san. I do it so I can leave space in my brain to think about things besides my next meal or outing. It’s my own personal routine, and I will add or subtract from it only when I deem such an overhaul and the resulting habituation to have a greater advantage over maintaining my current schedule. I wouldn’t agree to you moving in solely to improve my work style.”  
  
Akaashi reached for his black coffee in a large cup that held at least twice the amount of coffee than most places, and it looked overly big even in his hands; he drew it close to his chest and cradling it, inhaled the aroma; his sigh was more tired than content. “My impassivity is a surface layer. Beneath it, my emotions are as rich and flavourful as this coffee. I am… already emotionally attached. But also… your reasoning is grounded.”  
  
Akaashi took a long sip of his drink, hiding his face.  
  
Iwaizumi needed to come up with more (excuses) reasons, and he needed to do it soon, because he was feeling some hard tugs in his chest and he didn’t know how long they could go ignored.  
  
He could think of several good reasons to say no. They’d just met. They barely knew anything about each other. Akaashi was a client. If Iwaizumi were to actually move in with Akaashi, he’d have to move out of his apartment – at a decent location, with his own parking spot, that he’d lived in for five years. He’d have to pack. He’d have to redo all the paperwork for the permit he’d just handed in a couple of weeks ago.   
  
Akaashi seemed like a decent person. Quirky, with his head in the clouds, though there was a certain charm about that, similar to the way he was now unrolling the sponge layer to dig into the pale green cream filling. While he was at it, he might as well throw in the superficial reason – he liked the way he looked.  
  
But what would happen after Iwaizumi solved the problem, and Akaashi’s head cleared?  
  
 _What might not happen?_  
  
“A trial. I’ll agree to a trial.”

* * * * * * * * *

Iwaizumi moved in – temporarily.   
  
The conditions were simple. He would bring everything he’d need to live for a month. If things worked out, he’d give a notice to leave his apartment and move (or throw out) the remainder of his stuff. And if things didn’t work out, he would move back in. Simple.  
  
And if what Akaashi had said was true, about bypassing the initial hassle of testing the waters, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out whether they were a good match.  
  
The first few days took some getting used to. To begin with, Akaashi didn’t clear out the study like Iwaizumi had asked him to, and they had a long conversation inside it, Iwaizumi’s suitcase and duffel bag unopened by his feet, on why each needed this room.  
  
They both won in the end. Akaashi kept his study, and Iwaizumi rolled out the futon each night and cleared it away each morning.  
  
Then Iwaizumi spent the following week and a half as a housekeeper. He tidied all the papers and books, he put everything away in their place. He threw away out-of-date items, he added stock he regularly used in his (simple) cooking. The house wasn’t dirty, just unorganised, but he gave it a good clean anyway, because he might as well go through with the whole package.  
  
When Akaashi stepped out of his study one night, Iwaizumi on the sofa flicking through some channels, Akaashi started wandering around. Iwaizumi stopped pushing buttons and followed his movements, wondering what he was doing, until Akaashi stopped in front of the TV and turned to him.  
  
“Iwaizumi-san – thank you.”  
  
Those plain words, accompanied by the smile, made Iwaizumi grip the remote control, the closest he could get to getting a grip on himself when it felt like butterflies had been released in his own body. He mumbled a ‘no worries’ and glued his eyes firmly onto the screen.  
  
And the remainder of the month was Iwaizumi getting to know Akaashi.  
  
Akaashi worked as soon as he woke up, sometime between five and six, so Iwaizumi had to clear his things and get himself out of the study by the time Akaashi finished pouring the hot water into the cups. When his body got used to waking up so early, he cleared his futon and went on standby by the kitchen counter before Akaashi awoke, and when the door to Akaashi’s bedroom opened, Iwaizumi switched the kettle on and asked what he felt like drinking. He found out from seeing the hard line of Akaashi’s mouth that it was easier to ask than to be ‘helpful’ by guessing.  
  
Iwaizumi left sometime in the morning (depending on the timing of his first appointment) and returned in the evening – unless he had a long gap, in which case he returned to his own apartment to check on his bugs. Iwaizumi considered messaging to see where Akaashi was and if he wanted to meet, then chickened out when it came to pressing ‘send’. It happened eight times.  
  
He succeeded on the ninth and they agreed to have coffee at the same cafe as their first date. They both asked more questions, exchanged light opinions on recent events, and sat in quiet for the last third of his drink; it wasn’t as uncomfortable as he expected.  
  
Akaashi holed up in the evenings after inhaling his food – he didn’t wolf it down, but by the time Iwaizumi looked from the TV to ask Akaashi on what he thought, Akaashi was putting plates into the kitchen sink. This changed towards the end of the month; Akaashi spent longer talking to Iwaizumi over dinner or during one of his breaks. It consisted mainly of listening to Akaashi’s progress and complications.  
  
Sometimes Iwaizumi joined him in the study, so he could ‘study’ the butterflies or find patterns in Akaashi’s moods that didn’t seem to change, except that when Iwaizumi asked how he was feeling, Akaashi would say ‘calm’ or ‘productive’ or ‘particularly clear-headed’ and then carry on doing whatever it was he was doing.  
  
Before he knew it, Iwaizumi sat cross-legged staring at the bugs in their containers stacked low in piles along the study floor, asking himself for the millionth time that day if he’d made the right choice.  
  
“Are they all occupied?”  
  
Iwaizumi glanced aside to find Akaashi standing by the doorway to his study.  
  
“Everything except the ones in the boxes.”  
  
He turned back to his collection, listening to the louder shuffle of Akaashi walking over and settling himself down next to him.  
  
“How do they appear?”  
  
Iwaizumi pointed to the one straight ahead. “A hornet, bright red and the size of your thumb. It crushed any good thought and ripped them apart to feed off it. The one next to it” – he slid his finger to the right – “a praying mantis. That one’s actually a rare case, because it fed off flies attracted to… lets just call it slime. Anyway, I caught the flies, and the mantis was without a food source, so I kept it. A glossy jet-black. I think it was born as a sort of defence mechanism.”  
  
“Have you ever experienced any your own?”  
  
Iwaizumi shrugged. “Bugs don’t seem to be attracted to me – I don’t cling to a thought. It’s when you can’t move past something, when you keep saying something over and over in your head that they’re made.”  
  
Iwaizumi glanced at Akaashi, who was staring at the containers, a faraway look in his eyes. Maybe he was imagining them crawling or sitting still. Or he could be thinking about something completely unrelated.  
  
“I’ve never seen anything like yours,” Iwaizumi admitted softly. Akaashi blinked his musing away.  
  
“Because of their sheer number?” He’d also lowered his volume. “It must be an indicator to say I’m holding onto too many thoughts.”  
  
“It’s not just about the number, they’re…”  
  
Iwaizumi leaned in, reaching to touch one, the one with its wings closed, perching by his ear – he remembered too late they would scatter—  
  
And realised too late Akaashi was also leaning in, his eyes closed, reading the gesture wrong, believing his affections were reciprocated—  
  
It wasn’t. At least, not equal to be called reciprocation – yet.  
  
But that wasn’t to say Iwaizumi wasn’t interested, or that he didn’t want to – he wouldn’t have moved in otherwise. He wouldn’t have asked if he could kiss him three days ago when he was trying to make up his mind and needed to know how well they would work together physically. That little detail was important as well, for him.  
  
Iwaizumi quickly changed his intended move by sinking his hand into thick, unbrushed hair. Even though his feelings weren’t equal, he did feel something for the man trying; trying to process his life, and his jumbled thoughts, and his unexpected feelings while invisible wings brushed his face like they were doing to Iwaizumi’s now as they touched lips; his mind split between the flighty sensations tickling him and the steady press of the kiss grounding him.   
  
Iwaizumi shifted – Akaashi sighed – and deepened the kiss; he fumbled with his other hand for Akaashi’s and finding his fingers, gripped them; they were almost too warm against his.  
  
He was getting light-headed, breathless from the kiss, and the air breezing around him creating a weird kind of vertigo – he pulled away.  
  
“Kissing you is like flying.”  
  
With every second Iwaizumi was being stared at by those analytical eyes, the butterflies settled back down onto Akaashi and his own words settled thick and hot as embarrassment.  
  
“Can we pretend I didn’t say that—”  
  
“You should remind yourself to breathe if kissing makes you light-headed.”  
  
It was at times like this, when Iwaizumi’s head was filled with thoughts of this man, that Akaashi became practical.  
  
Iwaizumi was drawn to place a kiss on Akaashi’s forehead. And he did, a light touch that might have resembled the touch of a butterfly coming to rest.  
  
“Akaashi—” Iwaizumi pulled back to look him squarely in the eyes. “I’ll clear them. Give me some time. Give me… a year. You’ll be able to do everything – you’ll be able to do this without feeling like you’re in a typhoon of thoughts.”  
  
“It’s hard enough keeping one promise, Iwaizumi-san. Are you sure it’s wise to make two?”  
  
Iwaizumi grinned. “I’m not wise. But I also don’t make promises I can’t keep.”  
  
Akaashi grinned back, though his was smaller, but it wasn’t any less meaningful. “I somehow expected you to say that.” He looked ahead to scan the new additions to his home. “If only there was a way to see what you see.”  
  
“Maybe… there could be. I’ll ask.” Iwaizumi knew Aone’s skills – if anyone could find a way, it would be him.  
  
“Iwaizumi-san, I know I said that with you here, I can think clearly. However, you may be interested to know, it seems when we are touching, the effect is reversed and I feel more restless than usual.”  
  
“Oh—” Iwaizumi pulled his hand out of his hair. “Sorry—”  
  
He leaned back, loosening his grip on Akaashi’s fingers; Akaashi caught them before he slipped away.  
  
“I didn’t mean for it to be a complaint. It’s a compliment, actually.”  
  
“That I make you scatter-brained?” Iwaizumi asked doubtfully.   
  
“I know I asked for the ‘butterflies’ to be removed – my life would be much easier and clearer for it. But I also don’t dislike the sensations – especially not now. My experiences are intense, and though they can at times be overpowering, they leave vivid memories.” Akaashi looked down at their hands, his thumb tracing veins along the back of Iwaizumi’s hand. “But also, ridding them would allow me to focus my attention completely on you.”  
  
Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if caught the implication correctly.  
  
“I’m done moving in,” he said slowly. “And… you could always see if practicing helps…”  
  
Akaashi looked aside in thought. “And I suppose if you aren’t satisfied, having everything in boxes would make it easy for you to move out again.”  
  
Iwaizumi watched Akaashi sink into another cloud and he couldn’t help himself from laughing; it sounded loud in the tiny room, and Akaashi returned to watching him, curiously, trying to understand what was so funny.  
  
Iwaizumi wasn’t sure himself. But it felt good releasing his doubts, and starting his life in a new place – entering Akaashi’s old life – with some cheer.   
  
When his laughter subsided into chuckles, Iwaizumi leaned in and pressed another kiss on his forehead. “Don’t get caught up in your thoughts, Akaashi. It’ll take more than that for me to pack up my stuff. A whole lot more.”  
  
And this time, it was Akaashi who leaned in to seal the third promise.  
  
  



End file.
